The Thrill Of The Kill
by BiteMeTechie
Summary: It is rapture to stalk his prey. Thrill, elation and ecstacy wrapped in one.


Disclaimer: Not so much as a thread of Freddy's sweater do I lay claim to. Only an undying devotion that borders on the obsessive can I claim as my own. The nameless, faceless victim in this story is mine though…but since I don't really have much use for a dead girl, you can have her if you want. I warn you though, she's not much fun…doesn't talk…_terrible _conversationalist…and she's kinda startin' to smell, actually.

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She was beautiful.

But then again, all of his children were beautiful to him. Each one holding a special place in his black soul. He loved them, in his own twisted way, held each in a higher regard than even he dared to admit.

Their breathless cries as he followed them...all of them calling for help that could not reach them, was the most lovely melody he'd ever heard. It was a tribute to him…an offering thrown on the altar of his bloody legacy.

Often he would mull over the screams he'd heard throughout his impressive career, comparing each to the last, deciding which he favored over all the others. Sometimes it was Nancy, sometimes it was Alice or Katherine...

But his favorite, by far, always belonged to the one he was stalking right _now_. While it was nice to look back on the terrified screams of the past, the real thrill was in the screams of the present. The Earth shattering, eardrum piercing vocal proof of true, unadulterated fear.

It far outdid that sweet little nursery rhyme that his children had made up to honor him...

That was an ego booster, to be certain, but it was nothing compared to the sounds of pure terror.

The sounds that his current prey was emitting from her lovely throat. She was begging, praying, demanding...all at once. Begging him for mercy, praying to a deaf deity for amnesty, demanding from herself that she awaken and end this nightmare.

Her white cotton nightgown flailed out behind her as she ran from him.

He didn't need to pursue...no effort was really needed on his part in this instance. She was a fly trapped in the spider's web with no possible hope for escape, only she didn't know it yet.

He could take his time with her, stalk along, enjoying the rapturous screams echoing off the walls of his boiler room, while she tried to find an exit.

Why did they even bother? This was _his_ realm. Here reality was whatever he dictated it to be. He could supply any number of scenarios, from comforting to the macabre if he so desired. He was master, commander and God here...bending reality to his will, warping time, space and the elements to comply with his wishes.

These times were the ones he relished and thought back on with the closest thing to fondness as he could ever experience.

This was a _game_ for him.

She ran along the catwalks and he knew the end was coming soon. He could sense her exhaustion working in competition with the icy terror that was burrowed deep in her breast. Her heart was no doubt beating so fast it was threatening to beat its way out of her ribcage.

He only smiled at her plight, gloved hand raised to waist level, bladed fingers outstretched in a gesture that was a mix of invitation and intimidation.

She hit the wall and cried out, hopelessness overcoming her as she turned and braced herself against it.

Her breathing was ragged and he could see her pulse throbbing at the side of her neck, eyes wide like a lamb led to the slaughter.

Oh, but if only she was aware of just how accurate an appraisal of her current situation that was. Innocence standing prone before sin, debauchery and vice personified.

As he grew closer she turned her head away from him, squeezing her eyes shut as her last defense against what was happening.

He had to laugh at that. At this point in the game, there were only two options left to the prey, fight or fold.

His amusement was overcome by disgust, however. While he had to admit that the ones who gave up made things easier for him, easier wasn't always more _fun_. A little bit of a struggle was always preferable to one who didn't put up much of a fight.

Well, it didn't really matter much _now_, they all reacted the same way when he impaled them on those four sharp blades.

That glorious sudden gasp of air, the eyes wide with terror, the sudden, violent shudder that all of her muscles make at the invasion of cold steel into warm flesh.

Her eyes staring straight at him, grass green orbs draining of the life that lends them all their sparkle as a crimson stain blossoms across her abdomen. For these seconds, there is nothing but him, her and the fear that hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the coppery perfume of her freshly spilled blood. In these few moments, there is eternity, future, past and present, all residing in the same space. Every breath, twitch and whimper belong to him and _only_ him, his to treasure in those precious few minutes when he is the only thing in her universe.

Here, in this time, he is everything, nothing and all that lies between. Here he is a God.

It's over far too quickly for his liking. It always is.

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A/N:I bet you anything that this is the weirdest thing ever written by anyone while listening to 'Flower Drum Song'. You know, my ability to listen to Rodger's And Hammerstein and write something like this at the same time rather disturbs me. I just felt like getting inside Freddy's head out of boredom. Yes...this is what happens when I'm _bored_. God forbid I get _this_ bored on a regular basis. I've never written anything in the horror genre (le gasp) and I don't really think this is very good, actually. I'm used to writing humor and parody, so this was a **big** departure for me. I actually liked writing this, surprisingly. So who knows, maybe sometime I'll wander back into this fandom again.


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